There was no pain... she floated. Darame had expected none; in the course of her days she had considered many concepts of an afterlife, and none of her front-runners had contained suffering. Surely there will be answers here, she thought idly. So many things left unfinished — a few answers would make up for it a bit. Take care of my children, Avis. Do not let Sheel grieve himself to death....
Nonsense. He was stronger than that....
On impulse, she decided to see the place where she floated, and her lids obediently slipped up. Diffused light, and pale blue... walls. Walls? Hell’s Bells. I am alive. A thought of wonder and delight, except she knew that would mean pain, eventually, and there had already been so much pain. Who would have thought a burn could hurt so much?...
Forms moved in the diffused light. One wore the day uniform of a guaard. On duty... no... . Darame focused on the individual.
A rainbow of color swept across one side of her face, the forehead marked by several cold torch lines, indicating mechanical healing. A light sling took the weight of one arm off a shoulder joint.
“Do I look as bad as you do?” she heard herself ask quietly.
“Worse, Atarae,” Mailan assured her. “Worse.”
“You are enjoying this.” Darame closed her eyes again.
“I have something for you. You must not be careless with it.” These words made Darame open her eyes again. In her free hand, Mailan held the worn hilt of the Cied cat knife.
“Praise Mendülay. I was almost as worried about that knife as I was about you.” That does not sound right. Darame felt herself frown, but Mailan nodded graciously. Guaard to the core, she was greatly complimented.
A slight change of expression.... “I will keep it safe for you, Atarae,” Mailan said suddenly, rising from her seat. “Rest easily.”
Easily? After so much? As Mailan became a shadow in the room, someone else came forward. Without effort the frown eased, her mouth relaxing. In silence she watched him lower himself into the chair vacated by Mailan. Very drawn, his cheekbones jutting —
“I have been bad,” Darame began humbly.
Sheel actually convulsed. For a moment Darame was terrified, and then she realized he was laughing — silently, shading his eyes to hide the tears.
Never again. Together, or never again.
In a while he calmed himself, his shoulders settling into familiar stillness. Propping himself up on one elbow, he rested his cheek against two fingertips. “How do you feel?” Barely audible.
“I do not.”
“Good.”
“I imagine the alternative would not be pleasant,” Darame agreed. “So, tell me everything.”
“Where should I start?”
“Where would you like to start?”
His eyebrows twitched, as his gaze wandered off toward a pale, blue wall. “You should recover completely, although we must watch that burn carefully. Old Doc will be in bed for some time yet — he was not so lucky. Your concussion is mild, all things considered, and your skull not cracked. Why, I cannot imagine,” he added acidly. Then his face lost expression, and he said: “We could not save the embryo.”
So small a thing.... She felt the tears, trickling out to pool in her ears. With feather-light fingers, Sheel reached to catch the rest. What was there to say? To ask? Ten years ago she would have considered it but a momentary inconvenience... I am too old for a baby, anyway.
“If Mendülay wills, there will be others,” Sheel said simply, pulling her from her thoughts. “Do you know,” he went on, “You and those miners and that nuisance of a child Kristinsson saved nearly two hundred lives. Not a single fatality — not even that Dielaan warrior you hit with a rock.”
“The antimatter?”
Sheel snapped his fingers in dismissal.
“Where?”
“A few kilometers into the tunnel. The guaard in the cavern had time to emulate your innovative idea and jump down the sweep chutes. Even the Dielaan warriors decided it was a good idea.”
“Kristori?”
Sheel smiled. “She got on the conveyor room wall box and demanded somebody free up that cage and come help. She was the only one who went down that chute conscious and aware of where she would land.”
“Good people, the miners of Mare Imbrium,” Darame murmured. “Any idea why the antimatter blew?”
Relaxing slightly, Sheel settled back in his chair. “It was not Dielaan — we found out later that Lulani wrestled the timer remote away from him while Quen pounded him into the floor like a stake.” At Darame’s look of surprise, Sheel added: “Rex sent one too many warriors to the train level. All he had left were two innocents. Quen correctly deduced that, no matter what Rex was yelling about, as long as he was not being killed, those warriors were not going to use burns on two royal Dielaaners.”
“Should have issued jabbers,” Darame suggested.
Actually managing a faint smile, Sheel said: “Only one of his many mistakes. I think the transference reached a critical point, because Kristinsson swears the controller was still green when he last saw it.”
“Do you feel up to guests?” That throaty voice was familiar. Sheel turned in response, and gave the entranceway a hard stare. Livia Ragäree walked gracefully into the room. “Your city is boring, Darame,” Livia went on. “All I have seen is the hospice. You must heal faster.”
“I thought you disliked the north,” was all Darame could think to say.
“I do, but I needed to return your guaard and your knife, and retrieve a few Dielaan possessions.” Livia looked equally as exhausted as Sheel, but her smile was full of warmth. Darame took in her attire; black with multicolored scattered threads....
So, for better or worse, it is over. “Quen — and Lulani?” she asked.
“Quen is fine. As soon as mourning ends, I expect him to marry that merchant of his. One hopes for an introduction before then,” Livia added archly. “He will be crowned at the new year, on his twenty-first birthday.”
“And you will retire to Amura in leisure?” Sheel suggested.
“Mendülay, no! He has asked me to stay close by at first, and I am nothing if not obedient to the needs of the people.” Livia’s eyes were a bit too brilliant as she spoke, but her chin was lifted. Her gaze settled on Darame. “Do not worry about Lulani. Her debt is so great right now, for the next twenty years she will not even sneeze without my permission.” She looked away. “Rex is dead. Yesterday morning. We had confined him to a suite of rooms, and... he cut his wrists.” Her face became hard. “I think I could have forgiven him everything except cowardice.”
Why — Darame knew it was quite likely they would have kept Rex on the throne. But... He could not bear to be brought back to Dielaan, then shipped off-world like a whipped child, in hope that his people would forget his trespasses. “Not a coward, Livia... consistent,” Darame murmured. This won her an especially warm look from the ragäree.
“We must let you rest,” Sheel said abruptly.
“Kristinsson,” she whispered, stopping both of them in the act of rising. “Have you found out why he came?”
The two of them actually looked at each other, quickly, before Sheel answered. “He has spoken freely about their conspiracy — he no longer sees any point in disguising his part in it. But so far he will not reveal ‘why,’ and we have not forced the issue. He only says that you two ‘are even.’”
“I want to talk to him.” Sheel’s face grew visibly harder. “You may take whatever precautions you wish, but I want to know why he spent a hundred years looking for me. Please, Sheel.”
The “please” succeeded — she so rarely resorted to the actual word. “All right.”
They made her sleep, first, before they would let her speak with Kristinsson. And they packed the room with guaard. Mailan escorted him into the room, her silence eloquent. Gesturing to the chair, the woman said evenly: “If you so much as lean forward, I will kill you.”
Well, no one can ever accuse her of not speaking her mind, Darame thought wryly. “The last time I saw him, Mailan, he was trying to save my life.” Bowing her head, the guaard leaned against the door, her free hand toying with the hilt of a cat knife. Darame let her gaze wander to Kristinsson.
Like a blank slate. There was nothing left — the fire that had burned within him had extinguished, and no other passion had risen to take its place. Almost colorless, his pale eyes bleak, he sat quietly, ignoring or unaware of the guaard in the room. A cold torch line extended past his collar to his throat... even he had not escaped injury.
“You got the train moving,” she said simply. “Many lives were saved by that act.” Did an ironic smile threaten? Nothing certain.... Well, then finish it. “You came a very long way in time and space to find me. I must assume you have a question. Would you like to ask it?”
That got his attention. Lifting his head, Garth stared at her for a long moment, then said: “In the year 2288, my father was involved in a scam with a man named Hank Edmonton and a woman named Silver Meath. Within forty-eight standard hours after 160 bars of gold were deposited in our family account at Traders’ Trust, my father was reported dead, my mother committed suicide, and our savings account was emptied. The only thing left was a message... ‘Aesir considers the debt to be paid.’” It was dry, a recital of facts. His face now revealed an absence of expression rather than a lack of it. “I was hoping you could tell me what happened.”
“Kurt Eriksson... he was the third partner. Lisbet’s husband — and I never knew.” A sigh filtered through her. So many things lost in the scramble of time. There was something missing here, something Hank had known that he had not shared with her.... “You have asked more than one question.”
“I have always thought of it as a piece.” No emotion in that voice.
“The answer to my part of it... can be summed up in Hank’s words to me when he returned to our base of operations.” The words from the pentimento rose up in her mind. Her eyes unfocused as she repeated them. “‘He’s dead; I don’t know why. We’ll leave his cut of the gold at Traders.’”
“Did Hank kill him?”
“Once I thought so... now, I think otherwise. He went to kill Kurt — we thought he had betrayed us, had taken the shipment and spirited it away. Someone killed Kurt before Hank caught up with him.” Darame turned her head. “I begin to see. The Caesarean police never asked you about the condition of the body? Aesir usually leaves a sign.” Garth shook his head negatively. “Caesarea must have been sure you knew nothing.”
“If he betrayed you, why did you leave the gold?” Hard; he knew something of free-trader law, then.
“I was the junior member of the partnership. I... assumed... that Hank had found something that explained the irregularities. And we had recovered the metal. But....” She smiled slightly, lost in a memory. So, old man, you had a soft heart, after all. Concentrating on Kristinsson once again, she continued: “I think he knew Aesir was involved, and knew your father had dependents... suspected your father had crossed us instead of coming to us for help. It was a desperate act. So Hank left the gold in an attempt to convince Aesir to spare the family. There was no way to know if it was enough, but... that was a lot of gold. Aesir’s main business is loaning metal; there was a chance that a lump repayment would be enough.”
“Then the message meant...?”
“Aesir’s reply to your family... only there was no one left who knew what it meant. Lisbet could not have seen it, or she would not have killed herself.”
“She killed herself... for nothing.” A whisper.
“No, not nothing.” Darame spoke quickly.
“Lowe said she did it for a reason — that there were things to gain by killing yourself.” This was thrown at her, as if asking her to deny it.
Reluctantly, Darame said: “He was trying to spare you. Aesir has been known to cause entire families to disappear. Do you know the word ‘thrall’?”
Garth shook his head impatiently.
“It is a type of bond servant, a slave for a contracted period. Gavrielian law is odd that way. As long as someone who signed the contract lived, Aesir could seize assets of the immediate family — including the persons of the immediate family. Lisbet must have put her name to the loan. She killed herself to cut the obligation... and the threat to the family. Aesir investigated, after either purposefully or accidentally killing your father, and found enough metal to satisfy them as to the debt. It was merely... bad timing... that they did not move faster, and that she did not have the courage to go to Hank and ask him for the gold.”
“A farce from one end to the other,” Garth said quietly. “No guts coming or going.”
“No, it was not lack of courage. It was... the luck of the game.”
Garth gave her a hard look. “A stupid way to make a living.”
“To some,” she agreed.
“I cannot see it.”
“Of course not. You were not born to be a free-trader.”
“You can tell?” Honest curiosity touched his words.
“Usually. You have a different type of courage.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, Garth studying his hands, Darame looking at nothing. At length, he said: “Thank you for telling me. It seems I now owe you —”
“You owe me nothing,” she said harshly. “You saved all our lives.”
“But I —”
“Think of it,” she continued briskly, “as tying up old business. That is how I see it.”
A crooked smile touched his face as his gaze remained on his hands.
They had isolated him in a small but adequate room. Lucy came to him at starset, dressed in a somber dress of black, trickled with threads of red and gold. Her hair was mostly down, a blanket of polished copper down her back; she looked much younger than her years. Her face was free of cosmetics, and pale from crying. She did not wait for an invitation, but went to the window and sat down on a bench near it, just out of arms’ reach.
“Did they tell you Rex killed himself?” she finally said.
Garth tried to find some interest in this, but it would have been a lie to express sympathy. He continued looking out the window. “Did he? So Quen will rule?”
“Eventually. He will be of age at the new year. Since he will marry Rebekah, he will not go off-world.” She let the silence sit between them for a time, and then said: “You were going to tell me why you came here.”
Why not? So he told her — all of it, from the night his father died until his conversation with the woman he had called Silver. Oh, my mother, my father... I hope I am not a disappointment to you.
“And now she is letting it all go, as if it had never happened. I am still not sure I know why.” This was a whisper. It bothered Garth; like a scab begging to be scratched.
“I am so sorry, Garth,” she whispered in turn, and sounded as if she meant it.
“Even my attempts to wreck havoc end in failure,” Garth said lightly.
“Was that what you wanted?”
“So I thought. In the end, all I wanted was to make it right, because I found my enemy worthier than my so-called friends. I don’t think I accomplished that, either... But The Atarae seems to think it was enough.” After a moment, he added: “Except for you.”
“What?”
“My enemy was worthier than all but you.” They studied each other’s reflections in the glass. “You have been the only good thing about this trip. I hope you will not suffer too much for what Rex led you all i —”
“We chose to follow,” she said sharply.
Garth shook his head. “Nualans offer oaths to their rulers, and the rulers offer them to their people. You kept your oaths... even if I do not understand why. Rex broke his oaths to you. It is that simple.”
“You kept your promise, too.” Garth merely stared out the window. “You came for wergild. In the end, you found your answer and pulled down a tyrant... maybe set up a much better situation here. The Atarae seems to think her pain was worth it. Can you not think the same? It... it appears a much better wergild than gold — at least to me.” This was hesitant.
“What have you learned, Lulani reb^Carlotta, daughter of Tensar Dielaan?” Garth asked huskily. “Clever, how you never quite mentioned that the last Dielaan was your father.”
“It does not mean anything... except that maybe I should have known better.” Soft words. “I will leave politics to those with a head for it. I find there are things worth more than the hereditary rights of a ruler.”
“There may be hope for you,” came a weary voice. Lucy’s head jerked up, but Garth looked at the window, watching the reflections mirrored in the glass. Sheel Atare had entered the room. His two black shadows trailed in his wake. “What am I going to do about you?” Sheel asked quietly.
Lucy decided he was talking to her. “Do you have the right to decide what to do about me?” The slightest bit belligerent....
“What do you think? You were in Atare province threatening to blow up an occupied trinium mine. What should be the punishment for such a crime?”
Lucy looked away from him, the show of arrogance draining from her face. “If my aunt has her way, I will spend the next twenty years scrubbing floors in Dielaan Palace.”
“Do you have one good reason why you should not?” The question was quite neutral in tone.
“I am terrible at scrubbing floors. There is an art to it; not a sophisticated one, but an art, nonetheless.”
“I have a better idea. Your aunt intends to repay the debts... all of them. Wergild, antimatter, crops.” Lucy literally went white at his words. “A great deal of wealth, which will be years in the repaying. I suggest you find occupation which will legally increase revenue, and pursue it.”
“Surely you cannot simply forget about all this?” Lucy whispered.
“No. Silas and Malini will go off-planet with the next long-hauler. Their inheritance will be paying into the same reparation fund. You may either join them, or vanish in some other way — but no one is going to see you laughing at an Amuran dinner party for many, many long years... if ever.” Sheel did not look directly at either of them; rather, his unnerving gaze wandered out past the rim of Atare’s rocky shore. “I have plans for the tribes which do not need angering anyone over your punishment or lack of the same. So you will disappear.”
“And Garth?” Again, almost defiant.
“Another problem, but of a different sort.” Contemplative... “You managed to involve yourself with murder and localized treason, an impressive record for such a short visit. Have you any thoughts on the matter?”
“Not that you have not already heard,” Garth said simply.
“We have talked to conspirators, underlings, spies, and observers, and it has come down to this: You did not intend to kill anyone, and you did not intend to start a war... did not even intend to do anything patently illegal. More of a demonstration than anything else — that is correct?”
“Yes.”
“We have the vial Rex Dielaan tried to blackmail you with, but we know that was a plant. Still, your fingerprint is on it.”
“Atare?” He turned his head toward Lucy, meeting her gaze. She did not flinch. “The... Atarae. How is she?”
“Alive.”
Lucy’s face deflated visibly. “And... the baby?”
Sheel shook his head once.
Garth stirred at this, looking to Lucy for an explanation. Glancing quickly away, she would not speak. So he turned to Sheel Atare, and read his answers in the Nualan’s face. You may forgive that loss, but you will not forget. Ever.
“I will not play with you,” Sheel said abruptly. “My wife asks me to consider Gavrielian wergild in my decision — and we do not execute people for conspiracy against a cartel. Since Dielaan is paying the wergild for the guaard, I can take this upon myself. You may be deported to Caesarea as an undesirable, banned from ever returning here, or you may stay on Nuala as an immigrant — provided you find a sponsor, and that you stay out of my sight. I do not wish to see you again. My wife tells me any danger from you is past. For your sake, I hope so.” And he was gone, as silently as he had arrived.
Stay? He did not have enough strength to laugh. But his fingers gripped the pill packet in his side pocket. So little food in the past few days... he had forgotten to eat. But he had taken the pills when he had....
“Where will you go? To your sister on Gavriel?” Lucy asked quietly.
“Even with FOY, she would be 140 years and more,” Garth said listlessly. “No doubt she has forgotten my face. I did not do well by her... but at the least I should send her children this tale, so it is known what became of our parents... and what became of me.” That stirred an odd thought. He glanced over at Lucy. “There is only one FOY office here, in Amura. Nualans do not allow longevity treatments?”
She smiled wryly. “If you use FOY, you become sterile. We do not tamper with the organism. Besides, Nualans who take care of themselves live a long time... ninety or a hundred Nualan, with wits and health.” Thoughtfully, she added: “If you live well, it is long enough.”
“So where will you vanish?”
“The southern continent.”
“Is there one?” he countered.
“Oh, yes — even hotter than up here, but very wet. All the tribes have colonies down there. We have a great tea plantation that needs a new manager. I think mother wanted Silas to go down there, but... I thought of volunteering. Do you think we could learn anything about growing tea?”
“Tea?” He realized he had meant to say “We?” For a moment Garth drew a complete blank, and then —”Would kona grow there?”
“Kona?” She looked puzzled. “On Nuala?”
He smiled. “I might even be able to find a backer, if he can still separate business from personal affairs. Halsey.”
At first her mouth dropped open... and then the laughter burst from her, her eyes narrowing slightly in the way he loved so well.
“But who would sponsor the likes of me?” he went on, as if they had never considered any other possibility for either of them.
Controlling her whoops with an effort, she replied: “I would... but I am not of age.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Garth considered her seriously, who had followed her clan chief to war over a principle... and had betrayed him for a higher one he had never acknowledged.
“We have a problem.”
“Not necessarily... I think we could convince my mother to sponsor you... or even Aunt Livia.” At his stunned look, she smiled shyly. “Quen still thinks well of you; he says everyone is entitled to make mistakes and look foolish once in a while, and how can anyone preach to a man who offers his life to correct a wrong?” The smile broadened. “And what better tribe to keep an eye on a conspirator, hummm?”
Garth started to laugh — his first real laugh in a long time. There were no witnesses but wind and water, and so he was able to say: “Lucy, do you know I love you?”
“Yes,” she said serenely.
“I wish you had told me,” he said. “It came as a shock.”
“Life is full of surprises,” she agreed. “You will get used to it.”
“Never.”
“But think of the fun recovering.”
Garth only smiled. “Hope I make a better farmer than free-trader.”
“You will,” she assured him. “It is in your blood — loving the land.”
That struck a chord somewhere.... Maybe she was right.
It was dark beyond the windows of the fire room; tiny Eros, waxing once again, had yet to rise. Leaning back in the chair where Sheel had placed her, Darame breathed a sigh of relief. The vid had just been shut off — her first talk with her children since the “incident” had gone off rather well. They were not completely reassured — Ardal, especially, was suspicious of her condition — but they were content to see her face. With luck, they would never know of the layers of cosmetics which hid both scrapes and bruises.
Damn this weakness. Even talking to the children had been an effort. Sweet Magdalen, she missed them so much —
“Sheel says you may have wine, if you like,” came Nadine of Kilgore’s low voice. Since she had brought a glass with her, Darame did not refuse it. Dressed for once in pale colors, emphasizing the softness of her lace tunic, Nadine had actually chosen different crystals for her hair. Blue topaz, this time, which led her deep amethyst irises back through lavender touched with pale ruby. Whether this meant she was feeling sentimental or fierce, Darame had no idea. But it was good to have her present, for no special reason... just for the pleasure of it.
When are you coming back? Ardal had asked.
Actually, it is almost time to come home, she had answered. Eighteenday from now is when we usually head north.
Could Avis keep them calm and happy? Sheel was returning tomorrow, since Leah still had not delivered, but —
“You are far from us in thought.” Her free hand was seized and kissed.
“Alasdair! How lovely!” Darame laid her hand against his cheek.
“How late,” Nadine said, chuckling. “Did you row those things yourself, Alasdair?”
Snorting vigorously, the man accepted a glass of wine from her. “No mean trick to get up here in two days, my dear.”
“Warships,” Nadine pointed out, seating herself. “All you had was a merchant fleet.”
“Potential profit always moves faster than a troop ship,” Livia reminded them, strolling in on Sheel’s arm. “But it must see the profit. Let us give credit to Mendülay’s winds and call all efforts even.”
“Ha! Until the fall, Ragäree. Let us play at friends until the fall.” Alasdair took a gulp of wine and sat on a stool at Darame’s feet.
“Why, Alasdair, have you found a new fancy? Have my eyes grown common to you?” Darame asked sweetly.
Flushing slightly, Alasdair said: “You know better, Atarae. Wallace men dote on Atare women, I fear. But come fall is the harvest.”
“Yes,” Livia said tranquilly, accepting a glass of her favorite claret from the palace wine steward. Sipping slowly, Livia re-arranged her black skirts and seated herself, waiting until the steward had left before continuing. “Come autumn, Dielaan must feed most of the continent.”
“And if folk have different ideas on how it should be handled? According to the infonet, Andersen is already in a panic — hoarding food, threatening to storm granaries, demanding action from Andersen herself. What if you find their ships on your doorstep? Or Kilgore’s? Or mine?” Alasdair’s expression was intent; under his banter, he was serious.
“There are clouds in the west, Alasdair,” Nadine said quietly. “Do not borrow trouble, we have enough as it is.”
“Even if the rain comes now, we will be on short rations,” he insisted.
“Yes,” Livia agreed. “But we shall make amends to Kilgore and Seedar, for the money they shall lose — probably by giving them a percentage in grain. And new seed, of course. Perhaps even KTL-83,” she added roguishly.
“And the price of bread quadruples, as we blackmail each other into submission,” Alasdair finished, draining his glass.
“No one will go hungry,” Sheel said briefly, moving over by the window.
“I wish I could be sure of that, Atare. And others will think the same... will consider hedging the bet.” Alasdair set his glass down with precision on a cut crystal table top.
“No one will blackmail another clan, for food or reparations.” Sheel flicked a brief glance at Alasdair. “Set your mind at ease.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because we will make sure,” Livia said gently. “The whole of the harvest will be turned over to Sheel Atare.”
“What?” Alasdair turned his entire body toward the window. Even Nadine sat up a bit straighter.
“The only way to make sure the harvest is fairly distributed is to have a neutral party handle it — one everyone can trust. So I found one.” Livia gave him her frostiest look.
“Do you expect me to believe you asked your oldest enemy to —”
“The tribe of Atare is my enemy!” Livia said, flaring. “Sheel Atare is my friend.” Her gaze was a direct challenge.
Darame made a production of reaching slowly for the nearby tray; Alasdair turned to help her set down her wine. Thanking him with a smile, her gaze slid in her husband’s direction. So stern tonight... what — Are you dreaming again? As far as she knew, it had been more than a year since he had had a nightmare which had preceded some horror. Those wretched dreams, always bleak, always foreshadowing a probable future....
A wintry little smile crossed Nadine’s face; she bent quickly to her glass of wine. “There are those who will not like it,” she pointed out, interrupting Darame’s train of thought.
“There are those who care for no plan,” Sheel responded.
“And if they choose to argue?” Nadine’s eyes had grown darker, again... or was that a trick of her own eyes? Darame was not certain.
Sheel gave her a long look. “We will argue.”
“With words?”
“With whatever it takes. No one will go hungry; no one will use food to break another clan. I will not allow this stupidity to continue any longer.” His gaze traveled back to the rocky shoreline.
“You will not allow?” Alasdair was clearly astonished.
“He will not allow,” Nadine agreed, her smile broad and inviting. “He is right, you know — The Synod will have to deal with this. Sheel is simply arranging things for The Synod.”
“Oh.”
“Or so it will seem at first.” Nadine kept her eyes on the swirling liquid in her glass. “I imagine things will be well along before the others see where it is going. You will need help, of course. It would be even better if able people from other tribes agreed with your course of action. It might... avert the shedding of blood.” She took a tiny sip of wine. “Although the people of this planet are rather sensible... and among clans with free infonet access, Sheel Atare is a respected name.” Looking over at Darame, she asked: “Can he unite the tribes?”
“He must,” was the answer. “I told him that when I first met him.” Lowering her voice, Darame added: “Next time, Alasdair, we might not be so lucky. We are not allowed private quibbles among ourselves; we are a starfaring people, and we must present a united front. The Synod must be that front, unless we wish to start from scratch with something else.”
“A committee cannot handle some of the types of decisions that must be made,” Alasdair said stubbornly.
“No.”
“What controls can be placed on such potential?” he demanded.
“Have you ever read the history and creed of the guaard, Alasdair?” Darame asked quietly, her gaze resting on Crow’s silent mien. “You should investigate it... you will find it very interesting.”
“And we will be in the thick of it,” Nadine said with a delighted grin. “Unless you have been recalled, Alasdair.”
“I thought you were?”
“Last we spoke, Klaas said to sit tight — the antimatter being a moot point. My husband is packing up the rest of the household and taking a ship north... he hates to fly,” she added, her expression crinkling at the idea of an off-worlder disliking flight. Then her expression became grave. “Better I have everything I can carry out of Kilgore, before the fireworks begin.”
Alasdair watched her quietly. “I take it you do not refer to the New Year festivities?” They might have been alone in the room.
“I am farmer and fishwife, when I am not a diplomat, Alasdair,” Nadine said gently, her expression distant. “And I tell you, between friends, that we lost more crops than was announced. Even replanting cannot restore the amount lost, and then there is the cost of seed....” She looked over at him. “The shift in the weather has also affected the fishing. You are right — we still face Rex Dielaan’s war, although he is no longer around to either fight it or benefit from it. If we fight each other piecemeal, some tribes — Boone, for example — will not survive. The balance will be upended. Better to choose when and how we upend it.” Giving Sheel a lazy look out of the corner of one eye, she added: “Have you given thought to a new oath, or will the one your vassals have used for centuries suffice?”
Silence. The fire Sheel had ordered built for his wife had burned low, and the sizzle was barely audible, even with the lack of conversation. Turning toward the fireplace, Darame watched Alasdair in the mirror above... he was visibly taken aback. Come, my friend; we never really believed your bluff baron act, though it was a good one. The war you fear is coming... and both Livia and Nadine have as good as told you straight out that they are backing Sheel. What will you do?
Her black gaze shifted to Sheel — and found him almost as astonished as Alasdair. Composing himself, he had yet to turn back to face them.
You inspire this trust in your own people. Does it surprise you so much that others can feel that lure? As he turned, instinctively Darame caught his eye, warning him.
Warning him... old free-traders did not die, they merely changed the stakes.... Tactics, tactics —
“I think the current oath will suffice,” Sheel said finally, lifting his glass to Nadine.
For now. Do you hear those words as clearly as I do? Darame wondered. In silence Livia and Nadine returned Sheel’s gesture.
After a long moment, Alasdair grabbed his goblet and reached for the wine carafe.
~ End ~